A New Day Dawning
by CaroH
Summary: While Aramis struggles to find his place within the Musketeers he and his friends are tasked with unmasking a spy.
1. Chapter 1

This story starts immediately after the end of The Hunger.

 **A New Day Dawning**

 **Chapter One**

Aramis stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt, giving the cool air access to his over-heated skin. He wet a cloth and wiped his face and the back of his neck. His arms and legs shook from the exertion of a training session with Athos. The Captain and Porthos had been working him hard to restore his missing stamina. Already he could feel an improvement in his physical condition, if not in his mental state.

He slumped down onto the bed, rotating his sore shoulders. So much had changed over the last four years. Athos had fully embraced his captaincy, withdrawing ever so subtly from the easy camaraderie that they had shared. Porthos had grown into a warrior of epic proportions, losing much of his sense of fun along the way. D'Artagnan had perhaps changed most of all. No longer the raw but promising recruit. He was a man now, secure in the knowledge of his own accomplishments. The young man and Porthos had formed a strong bond, unsurprising after sharing so many years of hardship and depravation. War changed men and there was no going back.

He, in contrast, had spent four years safe and secure. The war had touched them, that was true, bringing orphans to their door. It had never overtly threatened them though until the day his friends had burst back into his life. During all that time he had lived in a community without ever feeling part of it. In truth he had been lonely. Telling stories to the children had been his way of trying to stay connected to the friends he had abandoned. It had only pushed the knife deeper into his gut. He'd prayed every day for their survival even knowing how unlikely it was that all three of them still lived. His prayers had been answered and the four of them were reunited. Why, then, did he still feel alone?

Porthos had said they had learnt to live without him. Unfortunately, he had never learnt to live without them. Now he was back and that only emphasized how far apart they had drifted. They had been in Paris for two days and already he was wondering if he had made a mistake. Would they ever be able to return to the brotherhood they had known before he turned his back on them?

He stood and retrieved a clean shirt. As he dressed he reflected on the fact that Paris had also changed. Now it was full of refugees and food supplies were stretched thin. There was no evidence that the King had taken any steps to alleviate the suffering of the people. He wondered how the Queen was coping and that turned his thoughts to the Dauphin. The boy would be five now. In his haste to make his peace with God he had forsaken the promise he had made to Anne to always be there to protect their son. Would she ever forgive that betrayal? How could he have made such a mess of his life?

The Abbot had been wise in giving him the children to care for. Without them he would have spiraled down into darkness. Clearly he wasn't cut out to be a monk but was he fit to be a Musketeer? He resolutely shuttered those worries away. There would be time enough to ponder them later in the long hours of the night. He left his room and made his way to the mess hall. There was no sign of Athos but Porthos and d'Artagnan were sitting together at a table at the back of the room. He helped himself to a bowl of stew and a slice of bread before walking over to join them.

"How's the training going?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Slowly and painfully."

"Well, we told you they won't be pullin' their punches out on the streets," Porthos said.

"Yes, I saw that for myself today. What do you think of Captain Marcheaux?"

"He's a smug bastard who'll get what's comin' to him."

"He insulted Constance," d'Artagnan said, his voice dangerously low. "When it comes time to teach him a lesson it'll be me that teaches it to him."

"You be careful," Aramis warned. "He's devious and he has the ear of the Marquis de Feron."

"Feron doesn't frighten me."

"He holds the ultimate power in Paris. Remember that he's the King's illegitimate brother. They are blood. It won't be like dealing with Rochefort or Richelieu." Aramis dipped his spoon into the thin stew. He knew from talking to Constance that it was becoming increasingly difficult to get fresh produce. He could only admire her tenacity in keeping the garrison functioning while they had all been away.

"Feron is as corrupt as his predecessors. Eventually the King will realise that. He'll fall and Marcheaux will fall with him."

"He's been the Governor of Paris for almost four years, d'Artagnan. If the King hasn't worked things out by now I doubt he ever will."

Porthos poured wine for them all. "Well, we're back now. Things'll be different."

"I wish I shared your optimism, my friend." What difference could the four of them make? True, they had Minister Treville on their side but even he was subordinate to Feron when it came to matters of the city. "Where's Athos?"

"The Minister sent for him. He's at the palace." D'Artagnan finished his meal and stood up. "Now, I'm going to spend some time with my wife."

"D'you feel like goin' out for a drink?" Porthos asked after d'Artagnan had left.

Aramis dropped his spoon into the empty bowl. He was tired and his muscles ached but this was one of the first overtures of friendship he'd received from Porthos since leaving the monastery. "I believe that would be a fitting way to celebrate the return of the grain."

"Come on then. Let's see if we can find some of the Red Guard to play cards with."

"I hope it isn't your intention to cheat them out of their wages."

"Nah. I'm a reformed character."

Porthos winked at him and Aramis felt himself relaxing. Maybe he could make this work after all.

TMTMTM

"Come in, Captain." Treville signed the document in front of him and sanded it before affixing his seal.

"Minister." Athos looked around the room which had once belonged to Rochefort. How things had changed over the last few years. Treville looked entirely at home in his role as Minister for War, despite his oft spoken dislike of politics.

"Have a seat." Treville opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a bottle of brandy and two glasses. "You all did well today."

"You can thank Porthos for that. He followed his instincts and located the grain. Without it, there would have been more riots." He accepted the glass and savoured the liquor. "I've missed this. The wine we had on the campaign wasn't fit to drink."

"It sounds like you were fortunate to win your last battle. I've read your report. Do you have any idea who stole the weapons and powder?"

"Mercenaries more than likely. They were planning to sell them to the Spanish. It was unfortunate that Aramis and Porthos had to blow them up but that was preferable to the alternative." He looked shrewdly at Treville. "Is there something on your mind?"

Treville drained his glass and poured another. "That wasn't the first arms shipment that was hijacked."

"Oh?"

"There have been two other incidents just like that."

He held the bottle out to Athos who shook his head.

"Too much paperwork to take care of. I need to keep a clear head. When did these attacks happen?"

"The first was a couple of months ago. At first I didn't think much about it. There are many men who have become opportunists the longer the war has dragged on. Then we lost another caravan of arms about three weeks ago. Now, we have the incident you describe."

"You think they are connected?"

"I don't believe in coincidences."

"That would imply that someone in Paris is a traitor. Who, besides yourself, knows of the movement of the weapons?"

"It's hardly a secret. The finance minister is always told when we are purchasing another shipment. Then there's the minister for armaments. He's the one who's responsible for procuring the supplies. The soldiers on guard don't know anything until they are given their assignments and, as there were no survivors from any of the attacks, I doubt if it was one of them."

"You suspect one of your Council colleagues then?"

"Sadly, yes."

"What would you have us do?"

"I believe it is either the Baron de Montfaucon or the Marquis de Schonen. Both would have had the requisite knowledge and both are suffering financial hardship as the war has taken its toll on their estates."

"You want us to watch them? Surely they won't do anything overt." Athos couldn't imagine either man sneaking around to meet with either mercenaries or a Spanish spy.

"I want you to look into their affairs. If one of them is a traitor, he is likely being well paid."

"We will do what we can." Athos stood up and made ready to leave. "When is the next shipment due to leave Paris?"

"In two weeks so you don't have much time. I'll be damned if I'm going to lose more good men to someone's greed."

Tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**A New Day Dawning**

 **Chapter Two**

The tavern was quiet and the mood subdued. With so many men away fighting there were plenty of jobs to be had but the price of food had risen incrementally with the length of the war leaving people with little spare money. That much Aramis had discovered even during his short time in the city. The townsfolk, desperate and afraid, had been surprisingly willing to share their views about the dire situation. It showed, to Aramis' mind, how bad conditions actually were. In the past people were reticent about confiding in the Musketeers, seeing them as an extension of the King. He glanced down at his pauldron. This symbol of authority was a welcome weight on his shoulder. He hadn't realised how much he had missed it until he put it on again.

They chose a table with a clear view of the door and waited for the serving girl to make her way over to them. She smiled in welcome, no doubt relieved to see some patrons.

"What can I get for you fine gentlemen?" she asked.

Aramis pulled out a couple of coins and laid them on the table. "Wine, if you please."

"And make it the good stuff," Porthos added. "I've had my fill of drinking piss and vinegar."

"You've fought in the war?" The money disappeared into the pocket of her apron.

"I have. Aramis here was in a monastery."

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You don't look like a monk."

He had caught the edge to Porthos' words but still managed a grin for the girl. "I wasn't a very good one."

"You're a soldier now?" She sounded bewildered.

"I am and happier for it."

"I'll fetch your wine."

Aramis leaned forward and fixed his gaze on Porthos. "I won't apologise for my decision. I made a vow to God and had to uphold it."

"No-one's askin' you to," Porthos said, although he couldn't sustain the eye contact.

They sat in awkward silence until the girl returned. She placed two glasses in front of them and poured the wine. Porthos picked his up, sniffed at it, then took a large mouthful. As he swallowed his face became suffused with a look of pure bliss.

"Oh, that's good."

Aramis was slower to drink. "We didn't have wine at the monastery, well except for the wine drunk by the priest during Mass. We did make our own beer, though, and it was palatable enough.

"It doesn't look like you were wastin' away through lack of food either."

He felt the heat in his cheeks at the accusatory tone. "We grew our own vegetables which we shared with the people of the town. A small herd of cows provided milk and a few chickens were kept for their eggs. We weren't a wealthy Order and our mandate was to care for the poor and dispossessed."

"That how you came to be surrounded by a gaggle of children?"

A fond smile chased away the defensiveness. "They were all orphans, brought to us for shelter. The Abbot saw that I had a gentle spirit despite my years as a soldier and tasked me with their welfare."

"They must have been quite a handful."

"Luc was a challenge. He was obsessed with the war which is why he enjoyed my stories so much."

"You told him about us."

Aramis looked down at the wood of the table, tracing the grain with his finger. "It was a way of keeping the memory alive." He didn't have to ask Porthos what it had been like to go to war. He had fought in enough conflicts to know of the days or weeks of waiting followed by the brutality of the battle. Food would become scarce and, what they did have, would spoil easily in the unsanitary conditions of the camp. Men would sleep lightly, fear their constant companion. Illness and injury would stretch the field medics to their limit and the stench of death would never abate.

"I really believed you would come to war with us. When we came to get you…it never occurred to me that you'd refuse."

"I'll admit I was torn. It wasn't easy to send you away."

"But you did it anyway." The belligerence was back in Porthos' voice.

Aramis swallowed hard and looked up, it taking all his courage to face his friend. "You know why. I was saved from the wheel by divine intervention. I owed God my life."

"You were saved by our capturing Vargas and getting him to talk. And, don't forget, Milady de Winter. She's the one who got you out of that cell."

"I know you don't understand."

"No, I don't. We were brothers. We stuck together and watched each other's backs."

Aramis almost recoiled at Porthos' words. He was referring to their brotherhood in the past tense. "If you want me to leave I will."

They both knew that he wasn't talking about leaving the tavern. Aramis felt his palms grow slick while his breathing became shallow and there was an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"It's not up to me, is it?"

"Porthos…"

Porthos stood up and looked down at him. "I think I've had enough. I'm goin' back to the garrison. You comin'?"

Aramis shook his head, feeling miserable. "I'll be along shortly." He sat, staring into his wine, until the girl came to tell him they were closing for the night. When he reached the street his steps automatically took him in the direction of the garrison; a place that no longer felt like home.

TMTMTM

When Athos left his room the following morning, and walked down the stairs to the yard, he saw an unnatural stillness and quiet enveloping his three friends. He stopped to watch them. Porthos was eating with his usual enthusiasm. D'Artagnan was surreptitiously glancing from him to Aramis and their newly returned brother was picking lethargically at his food. Clearly something had happened but he had neither the time nor the patience to discover what it was. They were grown men and would have to sort it out for themselves.

He sat down, briefly catching d'Artagnan's perplexed gaze. "We have a new assignment."

That succeeded in gathering everyone's attention. He helped himself to a slice of bread and some cheese, nodding his thanks when d'Artagnan filled a cup with ale for him.

"What is it?" Aramis asked, although he seemed almost disinterested in the answer.

Athos looked around to ensure that they couldn't be overheard. "Treville believes there is a traitor in the Council."

"Feron?" Porthos asked.

"Possibly, although I can't see him siding with Spain against his own brother."

"What is the foundation for his belief?" A little more life had seeped into Aramis' face and voice.

"Three convoys of ammunition have been ambushed in the past few weeks, including the one at Douai. Somehow the Spanish always seem to know of their movements."

"Who does he suspect?" d'Artagnan asked.

"The Baron de Montfaucon or the Marquis de Schonen."

"The Baron's in charge of the Treasury isn't he?" Aramis asked. "I don't recognise the other name though."

"The Marquis takes care of the munitions."

"How are we supposed to find out who it is?" Porthos popped the last morsel of bread into his mouth and chased it down with some ale.

"We have to get close to them. I've decided the best way to do that is to assign a Musketeer guard to each of them."

"Won't they find that odd?" Aramis said.

"We can tell them we have a credible threat of imminent harm. The situation in Paris, as we've seen, is volatile. Many blame the Treasurer for the fact that the King hasn't provided money to ease their plight."

"How do you know this?" D'Artagnan picked up the jug and refilled their cups.

When Athos didn't immediately answer Aramis' face brightened.

"Sylvie?"

"Perhaps." Athos was struggling with his attraction to a woman who openly spread sedition. She had, however, been a goldmine of information.

"What of the Marquis?" Porthos grinned at his obvious discomfort.

"If the people were to rise up they would need weapons. What better way to get them than to abduct the man who holds the keys to the armory? Porthos, I want you watching the Marquis. Aramis, you are to guard the Baron. Report only to me. I don't want you seen with Treville in case they grow suspicious."

"What about me?" d'Artagnan asked.

"You have cadets to train. Constance did her best bringing in old soldiers to help but they need someone closer to their own age to push them to excel." He looked from Porthos to Aramis. "Report to the palace. You are on twenty-four hours a day guard duty. See if you can search their desks while they are in Council meetings. Listen to their conversations. If you see one of their servants acting suspiciously follow them discreetly. And, watch out for Feron. He's unhappy that we're back and I think he would like an opportunity to discredit us. Don't give him one."

"Yes, Captain." Aramis rose to his feet, frowning when Porthos stayed in his seat.

"We're soldiers, not spies," Porthos objected.

"We are whatever Treville needs us to be. Have you forgotten how much we owe him?"

"I'd say we've paid our dues after four years of fightin'"

"None the less, these are our orders. Do you propose to disobey them?"

Porthos stood and shook his head. "Just don't like all this sneakin' around."

"I sympathise but another convoy is due to leave in two weeks and I would rather not lose another troop of soldiers and all the supplies."

"You saw what they did to the guards at Douai," Aramis said. "They executed them."

"How do you know?" Porthos asked.

"I came upon them while taking the children back to the monastery. They had been watching the fighting from the hill top. Fortunately, they didn't witness the actual killing, but they did see the aftermath which was enough to traumatize them."

"I'm sorry about that," Porthos said with genuine remorse.

"If you gentlemen are quite ready?" Athos said drily. "You know what you have to do. Send word if you discover anything."

Tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**A New Day Dawning**

 **Chapter Three**

"I don't need a Musketeer guard." The Baron de Montfaucon glared at Aramis, his ruddy cheeks reddening further. He was short and rotund and exuded an aura of supercilious disdain.

Aramis stood to rigid attention and let the petulant words flow over him. "I understand, Minister. However, the Captain has given me orders to protect you."

"Damn impertinence. Send for your Captain immediately."

"I would," Aramis said, regret infusing his tone. "Unfortunately he is engaged on the King's business and can't be disturbed.

"You should be out there crushing this ridiculous unrest, not harassing hard working members of the Council."

He held onto his temper with an effort. "Paris is full of refugees and the food shortages are severe. Rightly or wrongly the people blame you. There was a riot yesterday in Saint Antoine. Who knows where trouble will strike next."

"How will the addition of one Musketeer to my household guard make a difference?"

"As your personal bodyguard I would die before letting any harm come to you. Could you rely upon your other guards to do as much."

"Surely I am safe in the palace."

"No-where is safe these days."

In the face of Aramis' intractability the Minister acquiesced with very bad grace. "Oh, very well."

Aramis bowed. "I will be outside the door if you need me."

Time passed slowly. Servants and officials came and went and petitioners began to gather in the antechamber, perching uncomfortably on the hard chairs lining the walls. Finally, the Minister's secretary came out, looking down his nose at Aramis.

"The Minister has a Council meeting to attend. You will accompany him."

When the Baron came through the door those waiting to see him rose as one and began to press forward. There was such an air of desperation surrounding them that Aramis fervently wished there was something he could do to help. However, he had his orders.

"Clear the way," Aramis said in a commanding tone.

The presence of an armed Musketeer gave them pause, allowing Aramis to steer his charge towards the far doors. Pleas for aid swirled around him, all of which the Minister studiously ignored. It only served to reinforce Aramis' view that there was something rotten at the heart of the government.

The hallways were busy with servants and functionaries hurrying along. He caught a glimpse of Treville entering the Council chamber. There was no sign of the King or any other member of the Royal family. Aramis ached to see his son, who would be five now. He'd prayed every day for the child's health and safety, never expecting that he'd return to Paris. There was guilt too. He'd betrayed his promise to the Queen to watch over their son. He didn't imagine he would ever be forgiven for that.

A tall, lanky man, approached from the opposite direction with Porthos in tow. Aramis realised this must be Marquis de Schonen, their other suspect. He looked a great deal more cheerful than the Baron. Soon enough Aramis and Porthos were left alone outside the double doors leading to the Council chamber. An awkward silence descended over them.

Aramis cleared his throat. "How did the Marquis take to having a guard foisted on him?"

"He didn't raise any objection. Even took me on a tour of the armory. We could have done with even a tenth of the weapons he has squirrelled away in there while we were at the front."

"You're fortunate. The Baron was not so understanding. It sounds like you have got it easy."

"Why shouldn't I get an easy mission now and then? I've had four years of hell. Reckon I deserve it."

Aramis was taken aback by Porthos' belligerence. "I never suggested otherwise."

"You have no concept of the hardships we endured."

"You are mistaken," Aramis said icily, his patience at an end. "I have been to war. I know what it's like to lose comrades."

Porthos lowered his eyes, suddenly looking ill at ease. "I haven't forgotten but you didn't fight in this war."

"No, I didn't, and nothing will change that. I pray that one day you will have to come to terms with it. Until then I suggest we concentrate on following orders."

"Suits me."

"Then I suggest you stay here while I search the Baron's study."

"Who appointed you to give orders?"

Aramis heaved an aggrieved sigh. "Fine, do as you wish." Before Porthos could respond he turned quickly and strode down the corridor. The unceasing animosity was wearing on his nerves. How could they hope to serve together if Porthos found fault with everything he said or did? Would he be forced to request assignments away from his former brother? His footsteps faltered as he realised what path his thoughts were taking. Had he really accepted that their friendship was over? Surely it was something worth fighting for.

With nothing resolved in his mind he arrived at the Baron's quarters. He knew from previous experience that beyond the office was a palatial bedroom. He debated searching that first before deciding to concentrate on the study. He eased the door open, relieved to find the room empty. The surface of the Baron's desk was clear but there was a set of shelves behind it which contained numerous scrolls. There was also a large trunk which Aramis discovered to be locked. That would have to wait for another time. The desk drawers contained pens, ink, balls of wax and a gold letter opener. He felt his way around the drawers in case there was a hidden compartment but found nothing out of the ordinary.

He studied the shelves. It would take a long time to unroll and peruse all the scrolls and he considered it unlikely the Baron would leave evidence of wrongdoing in such a prominent place. In fact, he couldn't imagine the man being careless enough to leave anything incriminating lying around. He ran a hand through his hair as he considered his next move. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't hear the door opening. He did, however, hear it slam closed and turned quickly to face it. The Baron's secretary was standing there glaring suspiciously at him.

"What are you doing here?"

Tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**A New Day Dawning**

 **Chapter Four**

Athos stood on the balcony outside his office and watched d'Artagnan working with the cadets. He automatically assessed their strengths and weaknesses, noting with pride that each had the potential to be more than a competent swordsman. Four years of war had honed d'Artagnan's skills into something formidable. He still fought with passion but now it was tempered by the discipline that had been lacking before. If he were to fight the young man now it would be a close match. On that thought he found his steps leading him down the stairs. D'Artagnan stopped the drills and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

Before he could think better of the idea Athos drew his sword. "A demonstration is in order," he said. It was important to establish their credentials. At the moment they were treated with awe which wasn't what he wanted. Respect without fear was his goal. He didn't want hero-worship. Let them see he and d'Artagnan as men, not as some legend.

D'Artagnan grinned. "Gather round, children. Athos is one of the finest swordsmen in France."

"And d'Artagnan is a worthy apprentice," Athos said drily.

"Apprentice?" d'Artagnan said with mock outrage. "I'll show you who is the master."

"Lesson number one." Athos took up a fighting stance. "Never let your opponent goad you with words."

When d'Artagnan attacked Athos was ready for him. They traded a few exploratory blows before disengaging.

"Not bad for an old man," d'Artagnan said, his lips curved up into a mischievous smile.

Athos shrugged off the insult, refusing to get riled up. "Watch the footwork," he advised the cadets. "It is as important as how you use your sword. There are patterns there that you need to recognise and practice."

"Ready?" D'Artagnan lunged forward.

Athos met the move smoothly before switching from defense mode to attack. He drove d'Artagnan back across the yard, the young man giving ground while at the same time offering a spirited defense. There was the slightest change in d'Artagnan's expression before he was on the offensive, taking back the ground he had just ceded. In mutual unspoken accord they broke off.

"All except the very best signal their intentions," Athos continued. "It might be a flicker of the eyes, or a sudden resolve hardening their feature. Learn to recognise your opponent's expressions."

"I can see that in training," one of the cadets said tentatively. "But how does it help in a fight? You don't have time to get to know your opponent's style."

"True," d'Artagnan replied. "That's why you practice. The moves become second nature allowing you the time to watch and assess. You'll be surprised how quickly you can adapt to someone else's style of fighting."

Athos looked around at the eager young faces. He would have to make an effort to learn their names. Treville had always spoken to his men as individuals. He knew their names, backgrounds, where their strengths lay and what needed improvement. It was an example that Athos tried to emulate.

"Shall we finish this?" he said. For the next few minutes he forgot their audience in the sheer joy of movement. He was met stroke for stroke until he finally saw the opening that he had been seeking. He slipped his sword past d'Artagnan's guard and lightly touched the leather of his doublet just above the heart.

With a good natured laugh D'Artagnan lowered his sword. "You're dismissed," he told the cadets. "Think about what you've just seen. Practice the moves. We'll reconvene tomorrow after morning muster."

Athos sheathed his blade and watched the cadets disperse. "You are training them well."

"I had a good teacher." D'Artagnan drew in a couple of deep breaths, bringing himself down from the euphoria of the fight. "Any word from Aramis or Porthos?"

"Not yet. It would be unrealistic to expect them to discover anything this quickly."

"What happens if they don't find any evidence against either of our suspects?"

"We double the guard on the supply train and hope there isn't an attack." It wasn't a scenario he wanted to consider but a good commander always has a back-up plan, even if it's a bad one. He had put his faith in Aramis and Porthos and had to trust them to succeed in their mission.

TMTMTM

"What are you doing here?" the Secretary repeated when Aramis made no move to answer.

Aramis barely managed not to gape in guilty astonishment and mustered up all his self-control. "I have been tasked with protecting the Minister and wish to assess the security of his rooms."

"Who is guarding him while you're here?" The man continued to sound suspicious and had begun to edge back towards the doors.

"One of my fellow Musketeers guards the Council chamber. He won't let anyone pass. The Minister is in safe hands." He put on his most conciliatory expression. "Would you be so kind as to show me the Minister's bed chamber?"

"I hardly think that's appropriate."

Aramis suppressed a sigh. "We are on the ground floor of the building. How would you feel if an assassin were to gain access to the room while the Minister is sleeping?"

"No-one would dare."

"I can see you haven't visited the city recently. I assure you that there are many desperate men who would willingly take the life of the man they hold responsible for their woes. I have my duty to perform. Are you really going to obstruct me?"

His words finally seemed to strike a chord and the secretary walked past him to open the door leading to the bed chamber. With a nod of thanks Aramis entered the room. The walls were paneled with dark wood and a huge bed draped with a white satin comforter dominated the space. There were large windows on two sides and a door that Aramis discovered led to a small private garden. He locked it and secured the bolts before checking the windows. Those that opened had small catches that locked them in place. All were in good condition. It someone wanted to enter the room they would have to break the glass and that would provide sufficient warning to its occupant. Not that Aramis believed the Minister was actually in any danger but he had to make his assessment look good for the benefit of the secretary who was watching him from the main doorway.

He turned back to survey the room. There was an armoire for the Minister's clothing and a low cabinet which was almost certainly locked. Two armchairs and a small table occupied one corner and a beautifully carved prie-dieu sat by the large fireplace. The walls were hung with ecclesiastical artwork signifying to Aramis that this was the room of a devout man, or one who wanted to be perceived that way.

"All is in order," he said before striding purposefully out of the room.

Once he was back out in the corridor he drew in a shuddering breath. He had no doubt that the secretary would report his activities to the Minister who already resented his presence. Was that a sign of guilt, he wondered? Porthos' charge seemed to have embraced the addition of a Musketeer with good grace which would suggest he was innocent of any ill intent.

He arrived back at the Council chamber to find Porthos scowling at him.

"It's about time. Did you find anything?"

Aramis took up position on the other side of the doorway. "A chest in the office and a cabinet in the bedroom. I didn't have to opportunity to search either of them."

"What took you so long then?"

"I was interrupted and had to talk my way out."

"You're good at that, aren't you? Talkin' your way out of trouble."

Aramis looked at Porthos sadly. "Apparently not good enough."

There was a momentary change in Porthos' expression before the scowl was back. "What do we do now?"

It was a loaded question and Aramis chose to believe that Porthos was referring to their mission. "Do you have your lock picks with you?"

"Always."

"Good. Once the Minister retires for the night we can search the chest. If there is any incriminating evidence it will be locked away."

Porthos gave a curt nod without looking Aramis' way. They stood in frosty silence until the door opened. Aramis drew himself up to full attention, his gaze focused straight ahead of him. When the Minister exited the room Aramis fell into step behind him, relieved to be away from the strain of standing so close to Porthos while feeling that they were separated by a gulf a million miles wide. As he stood outside the door to the Minister's office he thought how tired he was of the hostility. That, in turn, led to anger at Porthos' refusal to see his point of view. He had tried to make their peace and had been rebuffed at every turn. With scarcely a pang of grief he vowed that he was done. Unless Porthos drastically changed his attitude their friendship was at an end.

Tbc


	5. Chapter 5

I must apologise for the delay in posting this chapter. I have been suffering from a bout of writer's block for the last few weeks. This isn't my best work but I wanted to progress the story.

 **A New Day Dawning**

 **Chapter Five**

Night had fallen and the corridors of the Louvre were quiet. Aramis yawned and relaxed his stance. He had been standing outside the doors to the Minister's office for hours without respite. His stomach growled with hunger, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. The Baron's secretary had left some time ago so Aramis assumed his charge had retired for the night. He slowly pushed down the door handle and eased the door open to take a look. The room was in darkness and there was no sound from the adjoining bed chamber. When he heard footsteps behind him he turned with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Porthos came into view, his expression no friendlier than it had been earlier in the day. Aramis beckoned him forward and entered the office. There was just enough light from the hallway to enable him to find a candle and the flint to light it. Cupping his hand around the flame he carried it over to the chest he had seen during his reconnaissance. He squatted down, holding the candle close to the lock.

"Do you think you can open it?" he whispered.

Porthos threw him an aggrieved look and pulled out his lock picks. He inserted them in the lock and began to manipulate them. Seconds later there was a click as the lock disengaged. He straightened up, looking smug.

"Some things you don't forget," he said.

Aramis laid the candle holder down on the ground and lifted the lid. The interior of the chest was in darkness but, as he felt his way around, he encountered stacks of letters bundled up with ribbon. He picked them up and handed them to Porthos. "Take a look at these."

Porthos carried them over to the desk and lit another candle. He untied the ribbon and opened the first letter. By the time he'd reached the third he was grinning. "Looks like the Baron has himself a mistress and a couple of illegitimate children."

Aramis raised an eyebrow. The Minister was not the most prepossessing of men but he supposed his favoured position at Court and his wealth would have been enough for some women. "Not exactly a crime. Any letters to or from Spain?"

"Not that I can see. Anything else in there?"

"Some rings. A couple of pairs of gloves with gold embroidery and…" Aramis peered at them more closely. "Diamonds. He'd be as well not to wear them outside the Palace. There are men that are so desperate they'd kill him for those jewels." He laid the gloves back in the chest. The value of the diamonds would feed several families for a year. It would seem the Baron wasn't impoverished which would suggest that he would have no incentive to take money from Spain. On that thought Aramis saw a small leather purse tucked away in a corner. He picked it up and joined Porthos. He untied the strings and carefully tipped the contents onto the desk. A dozen coins glimmered in the candlelight. Aramis lifted one and held it closer to the flame. "Spanish gold," he said.

TMTMTM

Porthos rummaged in the cold storage room adjoining the kitchen. "Ham. Cheese. Some chicken."

"I've found a couple of loaves of bread," Aramis said. "There's a basket of apples too and some ale."

Although the hearth was still warm the kitchen was deserted. They knew that soon enough the staff would return to bake fresh bread and prepare food for breakfast. It was an arduous task to feed so many people, particularly now that fresh produce was in short supply. Not that Aramis thought the King would be suffering nearly as much as his people.

They pulled a couple of stools up to one of the tables and laid out their feast. Aramis' mouth began to water. He poured the ale while Porthos attacked the wine and cheese with a carving knife.

"How long d'you think Athos expects us to go without sleep?" Porthos asked. He took a bite of bread and cheese, his expression one of contentment.

"As long as it takes us to find our culprit." Aramis laid a slice of ham on his bread and inhaled the aroma. "I'd forgotten how hard it was to go hungry." He knew immediately the words left his mouth that he had said the wrong thing.

"We got used to hunger at the front. Supplies didn't always reach us on schedule."

"Forgive me. I didn't intend to diminish your sacrifice."

"Missin' a couple of meals isn't true hunger," Porthos continued, ignoring the apology. "Sometimes all we had was rancid meat and whatever berries we could find close to the camp."

It wasn't the time to tell Porthos that the monks had lived a Spartan lifestyle, giving away most of their food to the surrounding farms. Fields had been burned and livestock slaughtered by the invaders. Only the sanctity of the monastery had saved them from plunder on more than one occasion. "I haven't forgotten what it is like to go to war," he said quietly.

"No matter," Porthos said with forced nonchalance. "After four years you learn to live with the depravations."

Aramis flinched at the reminder of the length of time that Porthos and the others had waged war on the Spanish. "It must have felt like a lifetime."

"It did. Nothin' like the time you spent prayin' and playin' with those children."

"No, I suppose not." His own life had not been easy but it was nothing when compared to the hardships experienced by soldiers in a time of war. He drew in a shaky breath. "What do you think of the gold we found in the Baron's chest?"

"Spanish gold isn't easy to come by these days. I'd say it's a good indication we've found our traitor."

"It wouldn't be enough to convict him."

"He'd have a hard time explainin' it away."

"What about the Marquis? We haven't investigated him at all."

Porthos took a mouthful of wine and swallowed. "He didn't object to havin' a Musketeer guard which suggests he has nothin' to hide."

"We can't be sure about that. He's the one who knows exactly what munitions are being shipped and the route."

"True," Porthos conceded grudgingly. "He has rooms away from his office so it should be safe enough to go and take a look around."

They finished their meal in uneasy silence before Porthos led the way to the office of the Marquis de Schonen. It was considerable less lavish than that of the Baron and his desk was covered untidily with papers.

"He's not very careful," Aramis said after sifting through them. "There's lists of munitions and an order for the next convoy of arms. Anyone could have come in here and read them." The implication of that was disheartening. They had thought they had narrowed down the list of suspects to two men but perhaps they were wrong.

"Desk drawers are locked." Porthos set to work with his lock picks, grunting in satisfaction when the locks clicked open. He began to search. At the back he found a piece of parchment which he quickly unfolded and spread onto the desk. "You need to see this."

Aramis turned the paper to face him. "Our friends are pleased. Send word when the next shipment is ready. Payment is with the money lender on the Rue Cerisse." He looked up. "It isn't signed."

Porthos dropped into the chair behind the desk. "We need to get word to Athos. He can check out this money lender."

"The men who took possession of the monastery and killed the Abbot were French. This is a conspiracy that goes far beyond the Palace. The Marquis might be passing them information but someone else was planning and executing the attacks."

"D'you think the Marquis and the Baron are in this together?" Porthos folded up the note and put it away in a pocket.

"I wouldn't rule anything out."

While Porthos relocked the drawers, Aramis opened the door a crack and peered out into the hallway. The first signs of dawn were lightening the sky outside the windows and the Palace would soon wake into life again. They would have to get moving if they were to avoid being seen.

"I'm goin' back to the garrison. We'll see what Athos makes of all this."

"Alright." Wearily Aramis rubbed at his eyes. "I'd better get back to the Baron. Porthos, be careful. Someone has a lot to lose if this information becomes public."

TMTMTM

Grimaud walked quietly down the hallway away from the Musketeers. He'd been watching them all night after receiving a panicked message from the Marquis de Schonen. It was clear that they had found something incriminating and he would have to deal with that before word got back to their Captain. He let himself out of the palace, considering his options. His men were too far away to be of use. He would never reach them in time. That left only one course of action open to him. He would have to find a vantage point along the Musketeer's route, shoot him and take back whatever evidence they had found.

With his mind made up he quickened his pace. That still left the other one. Aramis. He narrowed his eyes. It would be some time before Aramis was informed of his friend's fate. More than enough time to arrange an 'accident'. He doubted if Feron would shed any tears over the demise of two of the men who had foiled their plot with the grain. Of course, the Governor didn't know about his lucrative sideline of stealing arms and selling them to the Spanish. Even Feron would baulk at that. No matter. Feron was firmly under his control, a weak man and an opium addict. Grimaud sneered. He would never allow himself to lose control like that. Regardless, Feron would be useful in smoothing over the deaths with Minister Treville and Athos.

His mouth twisted up into a sardonic smile. It was, he decided, going to be a good day.

Tbc


	6. Chapter 6

**A New Day Dawning**

 **Chapter Six**

Porthos arrived at the stables. He by-passed the stable boy lying snoring in a nest of hay and heaved the saddle over his horse's back. With a growing sense of urgency, he tightened the girth before slipping the halter over the animal's head. Dexterous fingers fastened it and he grabbed the reins to lead the horse outside. He swung himself fluidly into the saddle and turned down the main path leading away from the palace. The early morning air was heavy with moisture and a grey mist blanketed the palace grounds. A cold wind caressed his skin and wormed its way under the collar of his doublet. Cursing under his breath, he kept to a trot, straining his eyes to see the way ahead.

It became even harder to navigate once he reached the meandering streets of the city. The one blessing was that he didn't have to contend with many people so he was at little risk of running someone down in his haste. He kept going over in his mind the evidence they had found. It was still hard to believe that a Minister of the Crown would betray his country in such a manner. The note they had found went some way to proving the Marquis' guilt, but of itself would not be enough to ensure a conviction. They needed the evidence of the money lender who might be able to point them in the direction of the man brokering the deal between the Marquis and the Spanish.

He was still half a mile from the garrison when he turned down a particularly narrow street. He slowed his horse to a walk, gripping the reins tightly in his agitation. He was startled when a sharp crack shattered the silence. Before he could react he felt a burning pain followed by a wave of dizziness that knocked him off balance. He fell heavily to the cobbled street, his head striking stone. Then, he knew no more.

TMTMTM

Grimaud peered from his vantage point. He could see that the Musketeer was on the ground but didn't know if he had succeeded in killing him. The fog and the faint light of early morning had conspired to obstruct his view and he had taken the shot almost blind. He debated going down to the street. The noise of the gunshot had attracted attention and windows were opening. It would only be a matter of seconds before someone left their house to investigate. He scrambled backwards even though the risk of being seen was minimal. He slid down from the rooftop to a wooden balcony and from there clambered down to the ground. Raised voices could be heard calling for the watch. Unwilling to be seen he headed in the other direction. This was turning into a fiasco and he wasn't going to get caught up in it. He needed to deal with the Marquis. He had no particular fondness for the man but if the Minister were to be arrested he would likely give up his co-conspirators and that Grimaud couldn't allow. Besides, he had another death to arrange. He really was starting to hate these Musketeers. Why did they have to keep interfering in his business?

He slipped into the palace by an unguarded rear entrance close to the kitchens. He could feel the warmth from the huge hearths seeping out into the hallway and heard the chatter of the kitchen staff as they began another long day of servitude. His mouth curled up into a sneer. He had sworn at an early age that he wouldn't be anyone's lackey. He would be the one to give orders, not take them. Through sheer force of personality and an utter lack of conscience, he had risen quickly among the men who haunted the underbelly of the city. It was also his good fortune that Feron was addicted to opium and, therefore, beholden to him. To have the Governor of Paris in his debt was a glorious thing. So was the gold he had secreted away. One day he would be able to walk in the light, rich and respected.

He climbed the stairs, keeping a sharp eye open for that other meddling Musketeer. Servants passed him, giving him curious stares which he ignored. He'd discovered that if you looked confident and as if you belonged, no-one would challenge you. When he arrived at the Marquis' rooms he was relieved to find there was no guard. The door was locked but he quickly solved that problem and let himself into the sitting room. The door to the bedchamber stood ajar. When he entered he found the Marquis still in bed and asleep. Grimaud drew his knife, leaned over and roughly shook the man's shoulder.

There was a moment of unbridled terror on the Minister's face when he saw the dark shape looming over him at the side of his bed. "Grimaud! What are you doing here?"

Grimaud scowled at the supercilious tone of voice. "You've been careless. The Musketeers have discovered what you've been up to."

The Marquis sat bolt upright, all the colour draining from his face. "You were supposed to handle them."

"I am. One's dead." At least he hoped he was. "The other will soon follow."

"You have to get me out of here." Panic was quickly replacing the fear.

"That won't be necessary." Grimaud raised his arm. He could have killed the Marquis as he slept but it was so much more satisfying to watch the light in a man's eye die.

"No. Please." The Marquis began to scramble backwards. "I won't tell anyone of your involvement."

"No, you won't." He drove the knife forward, piercing the Minister's chest and pushing it until it was buried to the hilt. There was a wavering and pathetic scream before his victim fell backwards. He withdrew the knife and wiped the blade on his cloak before sheathing it. He stood for a few moments breathing heavily before turning away and closing the door behind him.

TMTMTM

After Porthos' departure, Aramis had gone to stand outside the Marquis' rooms while he waged an internal war with himself. Athos had instructed them to report only to him and he knew Porthos could be relied upon to fulfil that order. In the meantime, Aramis' instincts were screaming at him and he didn't think they could wait while Porthos made his report. After glancing indecisively at the door, he had paid heed to his jangling nerves and walked along the corridor to the room occupied by Minister Treville. He knocked and waited. As expected it didn't take long for Treville to open the door. The Minister had been a soldier longer than he'd been a politician and a soldier always slept lightly, alert for danger.

"Aramis. What do you want?"

"Can I come in?"

Treville stepped back, allowing him entry. Aramis closed the door and wandered restlessly into the room.

"You are supposed to be guarding the Baron."

"I know."

"Then why are you here?"

"Porthos and I searched both offices last night. The Baron has a pouch of Spanish gold but the Marquis had something more incriminating. We found a note that implies he is the one who has been betraying the shipments."

"Where is it?"

"Porthos has it. He's on his way to the garrison to tell Athos."

"Who was this note from?" Treville began gathering up his clothes.

"It was unsigned but it referred to a money lender. He will need to be interviewed."

"Yes. An unsigned note won't be enough to persuade the King. He's very fond of the Marquis. You have done well, though. I want you on guard outside his quarters. Follow him everywhere. I don't want him slipping through our fingers."

Aramis nodded tiredly. "Yes, Minister."

"Report to me as soon as you hear from Athos."

"What are you going to do?"

"Attend on the King and start preparing the way for the news that his Minister of Armaments isn't as loyal as he believed."

"What about the Baron?"

"Once we have the proof we need I'll question him as well. There's been little Spanish gold in the city in the last few years so he'll have some explaining to do."

Aramis reached the door and then turned. "Be careful. The men who came to the monastery were cold-blooded killers. If those that escaped are in Paris and discover our intent I fear they will use violent means to stop us."

"I can take care of myself," Treville said with mild amusement.

"I don't doubt it." He let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him. The Palace was coming back to life and he could see that they sky had lightened considerably as the sun rose and the early morning mist began to dissipate. He walked back towards the Marquis' rooms, passing across the top of one of the many flights of stairs in the building. He heard footsteps behind him, slowed and began to turn. A hard body made contact with him and he stumbled, off balance. Before he could right himself he felt hands on his back pushing him towards the stairs. Then he began to fall.

Tbc


	7. Chapter 7

A New Day Dawning

Chapter Seven

Aramis' left foot met thin air and continued to plummet downward dragging his body inexorably with it. He flung out both arms scrabbling desperately for purchase. The fingers of his right hand grazed the handrail and he twisted so that his momentum pulled him in that direction. His shoulder collided with the stone balustrade, slowing his descent. He closed his hand around the railing and held tight. The savage jerk as he came to an abrupt halt wrenched his already abused shoulder drawing a pained gasp from his lips. There was a commotion above him and then Treville's arms were steadying him. A wave of dizziness assailed him before his head cleared.

"Check on the Minister," he said breathlessly. He released his death grip and ran up the four steps back to the hallway. He caught a glimpse of a cloaked and hooded figure disappearing into the distance and began to run. His frantic pace jolted his shoulder but he didn't slow down. The person ahead of him had no care for the people who got in his way, mowing them down or flinging them aside. Aramis jumped over one prone body before dodging around several stunned bystanders.

They reached another staircase and he saw his quarry heading downwards. The lower hallway was even busier, slowing both men's progress and for a moment he believed that he was making up ground. He followed the man into the kitchen which was in a state of chaos with numerous servants milling around carrying joints of meet and large pans filled with vegetables. Aramis collided with a young girl, sending her flying. He hesitated briefly before muttering an apology. The delay had been enough to allow his attacker to reach the rear door. By the time Aramis burst through it the man had disappeared. He stood breathing heavily and looking from left to right. His shoulder settled down to a dull ache which he rubbed distractedly.

When he slowly re-entered the kitchen the girl was back on her feet being tended to by an elderly woman who looked at him disapprovingly.

"Are you alright, mademoiselle?" he asked.

She nodded although her eyes were filled with unshed tears.

"I apologize for any hurt I might have caused."

The old woman patted her on the back before folding her arms across her chest. "What was the meaning of that? Disrupting my kitchen!"

"It was unintentional, madam. It is enough to say I am engaged on the King's business. Please excuse me." He executed a flourishing bow before walking away.

The palace was in an uproar as he made his way back to the Minister' bedchamber. As he approached he saw Treville leaving the room. In answer to a raised eyebrow he shook his head.

"Minister de Schonen is dead. Assassinated."

Aramis' steps faltered. "Dead?"

"A knife through the heart."

The implication struck Aramis hard. "If I'd stayed at my post…."

"He might still be alive. Yes."

There was nothing he could say. He had cost them the chance to find out who was behind the attacks on the convoys. It only served to reinforce his concern that he was no longer fit to be a Musketeer.

"Return to the garrison," Treville instructed tersely. "Brief Athos and tell him to report to the palace. We have to find a way to explain this to the King."

TMTMTM

Athos was awake, dressed and at his desk when there was a barely courteous knock at the door. Before he had time to respond Claremont was in the room. A brief glance was all it took to ascertain that the young man was distressed.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Porthos. He's been shot."

Athos was immediately on his feet. "Where is he? How badly is he hurt?"

"I don't know. There's a man downstairs."

He brushed past the cadet and took the stairs two at a time. The young man standing in the yard watched his approach with a somber expression. Athos' stomach clenched painfully.

"Is he alive?"

"He was when I left him."

Athos grabbed a passing cadet. "Fetch d'Artagnan. Tell him it's an emergency." He turned back to the townsman. "Tell me."

"He's about half a mile from here on the Rue Betany. He was shot from his horse. One of my neighbors recognized him. He needs help. He was still unconscious when I left."

"The wound?"

"To the right side of his chest." The man paled. "There was a lot of blood."

"What's going on?"

Athos turned to face d'Artagnan who was approaching and pulling on his doublet. From the disordered look of his hair he had only just risen from his bed. "Porthos has been shot. As far as I know he's alive."

The look of shock was quickly replaced by resolution. "Then we should go to him."

"I need a wagon and someone fetch a doctor." As soon as he had finished issuing his instructions Athos set off at a run, d'Artagnan close by his side.

The crowd of people signaled Porthos' location. The two musketeers pushed their way through and Athos fell to his knees. He pressed his fingers against Porthos' neck and held his breath.

"He has a pulse. It's weak but it's there."

Someone had unfastened Porthos' doublet to expose his shirt. It was soaked through with blood. A wad of cloth had been pressed over the wound to try to slow the blood flow. Athos moved it to one side, surveyed the damage and then returned it to its position. D'Artagnan meanwhile had knelt on the opposite side of their motionless brother.

"Keep the pressure on the wound." Athos relinquished his hold on the sodden cloth and stood up. "Where's that cart?"

They waited impatiently until there was the sound of horses' hooves and the rumble of cartwheels. Brujon brought the cart to a halt a few feet away. It took four of them to lift Porthos and lay him in the back. D'Artagnan jumped up beside him while Athos climbed onto the front bench and took the reins. He kept a steady pace all the way back to the garrison, flinching each time the wheels hit a rut on the road. Despite all the bouncing around there was no sound from Porthos and that, of itself, was frightening.

When they arrived they were met with the news that the doctor hadn't been at home. Athos immediately despatched a cadet to the palace with a plea for aid. While the were manoeuvring Porthos out of the cart Aramis arrived. He took one look at the scene in front of him and flung himself off his horse.

"What happened?" Aramis demanded.

"He's been shot. I think the bullet is still in there."

"The doctor?"

Athos shook his head and heard Aramis' intake of breath.

"Get him into the infirmary." Aramis led the way. "I need hot water and clean bandages." He unfastened his doublet, removed it and dropped it on the closest chair. After rolling up his sleeves he directed them to lay Porthos on the table. While he waited for the water he collected the supplies he would need. Mindful of what Lemay had told them when treating Treville he dropped the pincers in the hot water and washed his hands. "It's a good thing he's unconscious. This is going to be unpleasant." He accepted the bottle of brandy Athos held out for him and sluiced out the wound. He pulled the edges apart and squinted at the hole. "It's gone deep."

For several minutes he probed the wound. Throughout it all Porthos lay as still as death and everyone else watched in fraught silence. Twice he managed to grip the ball only to have the pincers slip without gaining a firm hold. He reached for a cloth, wiping his brow and the palms of his hands. At the third attempt he gained the purchase he needed and smoothly withdrew the pincers and the ball. It was only after he dropped the ball into a metal tray that his hands began to shake.

"Will he be alright?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I don't know. There might be internal damage. We won't be sure until he wakes up."

He threaded a needle and began to sew up the wound. Athos noted with surprise that Aramis' hands were less than steady. It wasn't like their medic to fall apart under the pressure but it appeared that might very well be what was happening. Clearly the four years Aramis had spent in the monastery had taken its toll on his nerves. He laid a gentle hand on Aramis' shoulder only to have him pull away with a hiss of pain.

"What's wrong?" Athos asked.

"Someone tried to push me down a flight of stairs."

Athos frowned. "Who?"

"I don't know. I didn't see his face and he unfortunately eluded me."

"Are you hurt?"

"A minor injury to my shoulder. A more serious injury to my pride. I shouldn't have let him get that close to me."

"Why aren't you at your post at the palace. And, why was Porthos on his way here?"

"We uncovered the traitor. It was the Marquis de Schonen. He was murdered this morning probably by the same man who attacked me. Porthos was on his way here with the proof of the Marquis' guilt." Aramis searched through the pockets of Porthos' doublet and brought out the note they had discovered in the Minister's office. "Minister Treville wants you at the palace to help him explain things to the King."

Athos looked indecisively from the note to Porthos. "I can't leave him."

"You will have to, my friend. You have your duties to fulfill. D'Artagnan and I will stay with him."

"You will send word when he wakes?"

"Of course."

"Four years of war and he gets his most serious injury on the streets of Paris." Athos' fingers brushed over Porthos' arm. "Take good care of him." With a last fond look at his injured brother, Athos left to answer the summons from his Minister.

Tbc


	8. Chapter 8

**A New Day Dawning**

 **Chapter Eight**

When Athos arrived at Treville's office he was met with a scowl. He removed his hat and stood at ease, waiting for the Minister to speak.

"You took your time," Treville growled.

"Porthos was attacked on his way back to the garrison. I waited until Aramis had finished operating to remove the ball from his chest."

Treville's expression immediately changed to one of concern. "Will he live?"

"It's too soon to say." Athos cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware that he had a job to do even though he would rather have been sitting in vigil at Porthos' side. "Aramis told us what happened. Do you have any idea who killed the Marquis?"

"None. We need to report to the King. I have had news of this morning's murder kept from him so far but he's bound to hear about it soon." Treville stood and rounded the desk, resting his hand on Athos' shoulder. "Porthos is strong. We must pray for his recovery."

"I think Aramis is probably praying enough for all of us. He and Porthos have been at odds since he left the monastery. I don't like to think how he will react if Porthos dies before they can be reconciled."

They left Treville's office, heading in the direction of the King's quarters. It was clear that news of the murder had spread quickly. Everyone looked ill at ease and some looked outright terrified. The Louvre was supposed to be the safest place in Paris yet an unknown assassin had infiltrated it's walls and then escaped without being identified.

"The King hasn't been himself lately," Treville said. "He misses Council meetings, leaving it to Feron to govern the country, and spends almost every waking moment with the Dauphin. Relations between him and the Queen have become increasing strained too. Be prepared for an unpredictable reaction to this news."

"He could always be…petulant."

"No. This is something more. It's worrying. Feron only has his own interests at heart but the King won't hear a word against him."

"They are blood relatives. That has to count for something."

"Paris has not thrived under Feron's governance. You must have seen that for yourself even in the short time you've been back."

"There is poverty, hunger and overcrowding. The people whisper about rebellion. Isn't the King aware of what's happening in his own capital?"

"He refuses to listen. This war weighs heavily on him. I sometimes think he hasn't the heart to continue." Treville looked sideways at Athos before continuing. "Added to that is the fact the Treasury is almost bankrupt. Soon we won't be able to pay the Army or replace the munitions we send them. That's one of the reasons the loss of the shipments has hurt us so badly."

They reached the King's chambers and one of the guards on duty opened the door for them. They found Louis sprawled on the ground playing with the Dauphin. Athos looked at the intricately carved toy soldiers and horses and thought that one day the boy would be faced with moving real people around the battlefields and the burden of sending men to their deaths.

"What do you want, Treville? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I have some important news for Your Majesty."

"Well, get on with it."

Treville and Athos traded glances.

"It is a delicate matter and not one the Dauphin should hear."

The King gave an exaggerated sigh before standing. As he straightened up he stumbled slightly and Athos, without thinking, caught his arm. As soon as he was sure the King was steady he dropped his hand.

"Pardon, Majesty." Touching the royal personage unless there was dire need was a grave breach of protocol.

The King waved off his apology and sat heavily in a nearby chair. "Well, I'm waiting, Treville."

"The Marquis de Schonen is dead. He was murdered in his bed this morning."

There was a profound silence and Athos noted that the King had lost all colour from his face.

"An assassin? Here? In the Palace? Where were the guards?"

Athos saw a mild look of alarm cross Treville's face. "The real question is, why was he murdered? The truth, Majesty, is that we were investigating him on suspicion of treason. He was betraying the routes of the arms convoys to the Spanish. I believe it was his accomplice who killed him to preserve the secret of his identity."

"Who gave you authority to investigate a Minister of the Crown?"

"I took it on myself, Sire."

"You had no right. Your actions may very well have cost the life of one of my Ministers."

"He was a traitor, Majesty," Athos said deferentially.

"How do you know? What proof do you have?"

Athos pulled out the note that Aramis had given him. He smoothed it out and handed it over to the King. Louis read it and then looked up, his face lined with displeasure. "This is hardly incontrovertible proof. Did you ask the Marquis about it?"

"There was no opportunity."

"Where did you find it?"

"In his office. I instructed Aramis and Porthos to search it and the office of the Baron de Montfaucon. They found Spanish gold in the Baron's office." Treville had managed to hold onto his composure despite the censure from his sovereign.

"So I suppose you're going to accuse him as well? I'm disappointed, Treville. My Council has to trust one another and you go and employ my Musketeers as spies."

"Porthos was attacked on his way to the garrison," Athos said. "The Marquis was murdered."

"And Aramis was also attacked in the palace," Treville added.

Athos looked at him in surprise. Aramis hadn't mentioned that when relaying his news.

"Those events are surely proof that someone has something to hide," Treville said. "My only concern was to safeguard the convoys. Without the arms and ammunition our army will be sorely pressed on the front lines."

"I'm sure you were only doing what you thought was best," Louis said grudgingly. "But, you shouldn't have done it without telling me."

Treville bowed. "I apologise for my misplaced zeal, Majesty."

"Yes, well, I suppose you're forgiven. Just don't do it again."

"What about the Baron? He should be questioned about the gold."

"Really, Treville, I think enough damage has been done. I already have to find a new Minister for Armaments. Are you suggesting I should have to appoint a new Finance Minister too? No, you will say and do nothing."

"As you wish."

"Is that all? Good. You are dismissed." Louis stood up and walked back over to where the Dauphin was happily playing. He lowered himself to the ground, completely ignoring the two men.

Athos and Treville bowed and left the room. Outside in the hallway, Athos put out a hand to stop Treville. "What was it you didn't want to tell the King? Surely if Aramis and Porthos suspected the Marquis Aramis would have kept watch on his chambers."

"Aramis was with me when the Minister was murdered. He came to report their findings."

"I told him only to report to me. He had no right to leave his post. If he'd been there this murder would have been prevented."

"Do you think he doesn't know that?"

"He will have to be disciplined for dereliction of duty," Athos said, angry that his friend had ignored his orders.

"Don't be too hard on him. He did what he thought was right."

"This isn't the first time he has ignored an order since we returned. I can't have him undermining the chain of command. My Captaincy might be new to him but he has to learn to follow my orders as he followed yours."

"He has been away a long time, Athos. It can't be easy for him."

"The last four years haven't been easy for any of us." Athos put his hat on and stared steadily at Treville. "I will deal with him."

It was Treville who looked away first. "It's your command. You must do what you feel is best for the Regiment."

"Do you need me here or can I return to the garrison? I would like to see how Porthos is doing."

"I have things here under control. Go, and Athos…At least wait until you know if Porthos is going to recover before you confront Aramis. If he were to lose a brother and then have to face your disapproval it would be unspeakably hard for him."

"He is already wavering in his decision to return to Paris. I don't know if he will stay if Porthos dies." Athos looked somberly at Treville. "And, that might be the best decision for all of us."

Tbc


	9. Chapter 9

**A New Day Dawning**

 **Chapter Nine**

Aramis sat with his head bowed and his fingers automatically caressing the smooth wood of his rosary. His lips moved in silent prayer, begging God to spare his brother. He'd dispatched d'Artagnan to fetch some food for them both, having found it impossible to pray with the young man in the room. D'Artagnan's constant questions had been fueled by concern but they were distracting at a time when Aramis needed quiet contemplation in order to commune with God.

"You protected him for four years while he was at war," Aramis whispered. "Surely you won't take him from us now that he is safely home." He moved on to the next bead. "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord." The words of the Apostles' Creed came easily to him. "I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting. Amen."

He rotated his sore shoulder, wincing at the pain that radiated down his arm. He was sure that he would have a spectacular bruise but at least nothing felt displaced. He felt a shiver run down his spine when he realised how much worse it could have been. If he'd fallen all the way down the stairs he would likely have ended up with a broken neck.

He was preparing to move on to his next prayer when he saw the slightest movement from Porthos. He leaned forward eagerly, watching intently as Porthos moved his head sluggishly from side to side. There was a flicker of the eyelids accompanied by a groan.

"Porthos? Can you hear me? Open your eyes."

Porthos turned his head towards the voice, his face screwed up in pain. Aramis left the bedside to collect the pain draught he'd prepared in anticipation of this moment. When he returned Porthos' eyes were at half-mast and he was tentatively fingering the bandage wrapped securely around his chest.

"What…?"

"Rest easy. You were shot and I think you probably also have a concussion given how long you've been unconscious."

"Shot?" Porthos slurred.

"Yes. You were on your way back to the garrison. Do you remember?"

There was a long silence before Porthos gave the tiniest shake of his head.

"No matter. I have something here that will help with the pain." He slipped a hand under Porthos' shoulders and helped him raise his head. He held the cup to his friend's lips. "Small sips. Your stomach will be unsettled."

Tears of pain leaked from the corners of Porthos' eyes as he made a valiant attempt to drink the bitter liquid. "Enough," he gasped.

Aramis lowered him back down onto the bed. "You need to keep as still as possible. How does your head feel?"

"Hurts." Porthos closed his eyes. "Everything hurts."

"Give the potion time to work. It contains an opiate so you should start to feel better soon."

"Who shot me?"

"I don't know but I believe the same man attacked me at the palace and killed the Marquis."

"The Marquis is dead?" Porthos' eyes opened a little wider.

Aramis was relieved when his friend didn't ask the inevitable question. He wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself for deserting his post and had no wish to confess his sin. "Yes."

"You…hurt?" Porthos squinted at him.

Something warm blossomed in Aramis' chest at the concerns. "Nothing serious. Don't worry about me." He saw Porthos' eyes sliding shut. "Try to sleep now. I will be here when you wake." There was less tension in his Porthos' body which told him that the pain medication was taking effect.

Shortly after that d'Artagnan returned with a tray of food. Aramis held a finger to his lips to warn the young man to be quiet.

"He was awake for a short time," Aramis whispered. "He was lucid although there was a lot of pain. He's sleeping now."

"That's a good sign," d'Artagnan said, setting the tray down on a small table. "Isn't it?"

"A very good sign. There was no evidence that his lungs were compromised, which was my main fear."

"He'll recover?"

"It is too early to be certain but I am cautiously optimistic." He couldn't help responding to d'Artagnan's beaming smile. Some of the vice-like fear which had been gripping his heart began to loosen. He stood up and stretched, successfully hiding the twinge of agony from his shoulder, and picked up one of the bowls of stew d'Artagnan had brought. At least now he could savour the delicious aroma and enjoy the mutton and vegetables. It felt good to have hot food in his stomach, especially as he hadn't eaten since the previous evening. He began to feel very tired, having been awake for something close to thirty-six hours. Once he had finished eating he lay down on the bed next to Porthos and was quickly asleep.

TMTMTM

Athos arrived back at the garrison and handed his horse over to the care of the stable boy. There was a subdued air amongst the cadets, who were loitering around in the yard. He strode in amongst them. "Don't you have drills you could be practicing?" he asked.

Brujon stepped forward. "We didn't want to do anything that might disturb Porthos."

"Your concern does you credit. However, I would rather you kept busy."

"Yes, Captain."

"An hour's practice and then the rest of the day is your own." He left them and headed for the infirmary. He stopped just inside the door to assess the situation. Porthos' condition looked to be unchanged. Aramis was asleep and d'Artagnan was sitting by the fire, reading. "Porthos?" he asked.

D'Artagnan looked up and smiled. "He woke up."

Athos released a long sigh. "How did he seem?"

"I wasn't here but Aramis was pleased with what he saw. How did it go at the Palace?"

He sat on a stool on the opposite side of the fire and stripped off his gloves. "The King was displeased. He has ordered Treville not to continue with the investigation. If the Baron is involved, he will face no punishment."

"That's a bad decision."

"I agree but there was no moving him." He glanced over at Aramis. "Have you seen any evidence that Aramis was injured? Apparently he too was attacked."

"He hasn't said anything."

"No, he wouldn't. His only concern is for Porthos. Well, let him sleep. We can ask him when he wakes up."

It was several hours before Aramis stirred. By that time Athos had sent d'Artagnan back to his wife and collected a bottle of wine from his office. It had been many years since he had drunk himself senseless but he was feeling the need to take the edge off his tension. Porthos had given the occasional sign of being unsettled, although he hadn't fully woken. It was a relief to see him in a natural healing sleep. While he waited Athos went over events in his mind, pondering whether or not he could have done anything differently. However, he looked at it, though, it always came back to Aramis' decision to leave his post. He didn't know how to handle it. Despite what he'd said to Treville he had no urge to see Aramis leave again but was concerned that would be the outcome if he didn't handle things correctly.

When he saw that Aramis was awake he poured another glass of wine and held it out. "I imagine you need this as much as I do."

Aramis grimaced as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "You have no idea." Although he took the glass he immediately set it down on the table and went to check on Porthos.

"He hasn't woken."

"I'm not surprised." Aramis looked out the window. "What time is it?"

"Almost time for the evening meal."

Aramis laid his palm against Porthos' forehead. "He shows no sign of a fever, which is encouraging. I gave him an opiate to help with the pain but it should be wearing off soon. I daren't risk giving him too much or his body will become dependent on it."

"He is strong."

"Yes, he is." Aramis retrieved his glass and sat down. "I imagine Louis didn't take the news well."

"That would be an understatement. Aramis…"

"You wish to know why I left my post," Aramis said flatly. "I thought it right that Treville be notified as soon as possible." He bowed his head. "I was wrong and I deeply regret my decision."

"You had your orders," Athos said as mildly as he could.

"I did and I chose to disobey them." Aramis looked up, his expression somber. "I told you that I had a problem with obedience. That isn't an excuse, just the truth. I have been gone a long time and it seems I have forgotten how to be a soldier."

"You haven't forgotten. You have just lost your way for a time."

"You are being too generous. I will, of course, accept any punishment you deem to be appropriate."

"I don't want to punish you. What I want is your assurance that it won't happen again."

"I wish I could give it to you."

Athos could feel his anger stirring. He was being more than fair and Aramis was making no effort to even meet him halfway.

Aramis held up a hand to stay his instinctive protest. "You are my Captain and I respect you but times have changed. Paris has changed."

"All the more reason for us to be united. We face opposition from Feron and Marcheaux and now it appears we have a new unnamed enemy. I need to be able to trust you."

"I will endeavor to do better. That is the most I can promise."

"Understand that I will deal harshly with any further disobedience."

Aramis looked him unwaveringly in the eye. "You must do as your conscience dictates."

The impasse was broken when Porthos moaned and began to move fitfully. Athos stood back while Aramis went to tend their brother. The conversation wasn't over and nothing had been resolved but they had more important concerns to deal with.

Tbc


	10. Chapter 10

I was expecting this to be the last chapter but Athos and Aramis insisted upon having a long conversation. Hopefully in the next chapter we will get to see Aramis and Porthos trying to patch up their differences.

 **A New Day Dawning**

 **Chapter Ten**

It didn't take long to settle Porthos down again. Aramis administered another pain draught, all the while talking in soothing tones, praising Porthos for his fortitude. Once he was satisfied that his brother was sleeping peacefully he returned to his wine. His heart thumped once when he looked at Athos. He knew the Captain was upset with him and he had been tempted to lie; to promise obedience. Unfortunately, his conscience wouldn't allow him to evade the consequences of his actions.

It was only after several minutes of uneasy silence that Athos spoke. "Treville told me that you were also attacked. Were you injured?"

The unrelenting ache in his right shoulder was a vivid reminder of what had happened at the Palace. "Someone pushed me down the stairs. I was able to save myself before any great harm was done."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Aramis briefly closed his eyes. He recognised that tone. Athos wasn't going to give up until he received satisfaction. "I knocked and strained my right shoulder. It is nothing to be concerned about."

"Really?" Athos raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Then you won't mind showing me."

He had no particular urge to remove his shirt knowing the amount of pain it would cause. "That isn't necessary."

"Are you so intent upon refusing my orders?" Athos asked mildly.

"If you insist." He raised his left arm and slid it out of the sleeve. When it came to his right arm, however, he found that he couldn't raise it beyond the horizontal. He dropped his arm back to his side with a groan. He was immensely glad that he was sitting down as the spike of pain had made his head reel.

"Nothing to be concerned about!" Athos muttered. "Here, let me help you." He gently eased Aramis' arm out of the sleeve and lifted the shirt over his head. "Your shoulder is black and blue," he said.

Aramis turned his head to look. The whole of the top and front of his shoulder was one massive bruise. When Athos reached out to touch it he flinched back. "I can assure you that no permanent damage has been done but I would appreciate it if you could dispense with poking and prodding it."

Athos gave him a knowing look. "That bad, is it?"

Aramis decided against answering. "If you could help me to put my shirt back on I'd be grateful."

The revelation of his injury seemed to have broken the ice between them. Once Aramis was fully clothed again Athos reached for his wine and stretched his legs out in front of him.

"The King has ordered us to abandon the investigation. It isn't a rational decision. Treville is concerned about Louis' health."

"Have you seen any sign of illness?"

"That was the first time I'd been in the King's presence since our return. He looked thinner and pale but that could just be from the strain of the war. I don't imagine he thought it would go on for so long, or cost so much in money and lives."

"I wonder if he regrets his decision to declare war?" Aramis mused.

"What choice did he have? Vargas and Rochefort between them had almost brought down the monarchy."

"Rochefort wasn't doing Spain's bidding when he accused the Queen of adultery. He loved her and was overcome with jealousy." He suppressed a shudder at the memory of being chained up and locked in a cell, believing that his life was about to end in a most painful fashion.

"Regardless of his motives he almost succeeded in destroying the King. If the Queen had been executed, he would never have forgiven himself."

Aramis gazed off into the distance. If the Queen had died what would have happened to their son? The thought that the innocent child could have been murdered was enough to bring him out in a cold sweat. "Well, what's done is done. Rochefort is gone, Vargas is in prison and the Queen and Dauphin are safe and well."

"You must stay away from them," Athos cautioned. "Who knows what lingering damage Rochefort's poison might have caused."

"I have lived without them for four years. It will be no hardship to continue to do so." Aramis looked away as he told his lie. His heart ached to see his son and his love for the Queen had never diminished. Regardless of his feelings though, he doubted if she would want to see him. Once again he had deserted his post. It didn't help to know that if he had remained with the Musketeers he would have been dispatched to the front. Whatever path he had chosen he would have been separated from them for almost four years. He dragged his thoughts back to the present. "Will Treville really give up the investigation? I'm convinced that the Marquis wasn't working alone. The Baron is still not clear of suspicion and then there is the mysterious man who shot Porthos and was probably responsible for the Marquis' murder."

"The Minister has given me no further instructions but I wouldn't rule out the possibility that he will confront the Baron when he feels the time is right."

"What has Paris become?" Aramis asked plaintively. "Feron is venal and corrupt, and Marcheaux and his men are just like rabid animals."

"We must not despair, Aramis. Treville has the ear of the King in many respects. He will do what he can to mitigate the damage done by Feron and the Red Guard."

"He is only one man."

"No. He has us. Why do you think he ordered us to stay in Paris? We are his mailed fist. We will stamp out corruption wherever it appears and will give the people hope of justice."

Aramis smiled. "You sound just like Sylvie." His grin broadened when he saw a faint flush tinge Athos' cheeks. "You like her."

"She is a dangerous radical. Besides I have neither the time nor the inclination to become embroiled in a relationship."

"If you say so," Aramis said, amused by the vehement denial. He was taken completely off guard by Athos' next question.

"Are you happy to be back?"

Aramis contemplated a glib response before deciding that Athos deserved better. "It is harder than I expected and I did not foresee Porthos' animosity."

"He took your absence hard. It got so bad that we couldn't even mention your name without him falling into a rage."

"I didn't know." He felt bile rising in his throat at this evidence of the depth of Porthos' anger. "What can I do? We were brothers once and now he feels like a stranger."

"You are still brothers. He just has to be made to see that. Perhaps this brush with death will calm his mood."

"I can only pray that you're right." He bowed his head. "I have begun to question my place here."

"You will always have a place here. Don't forget that you have other brothers who were happy to see your return."

"And you have my gratitude for your acceptance of my need to dedicate a part of my life to God. As it turns out, though, I made the wrong choice. The Abbot knew before I did. He was a very wise man who didn't deserve to die at the hands of those bandits."

"Your actions that day in Douai saved many lives. Besides, surely you don't regret the time you spent with the children?"

A fond smile graced Aramis' face. "How could I regret that? They filled my life with light and laughter. Of course there were challenges as well. They weren't always so well behaved."

"You kept our memory alive in your stories. That must have been painful."

"You are wrong, my friend. It was a comfort to think of you all. Occasionally word came to the monastery about the progress of the war. Your names were always mentioned. You became heroes in real life, not just in my stories."

"We simply followed our orders."

"You did more than that. You carried out your duties with a selfless courage that would be a shining example to those around you."

Athos began to look embarrassed. "You give us too much credit."

"I think not." He picked up his wine glass and drank deeply. "May my courage be a match for yours in this new war for the safety of Paris."

"I don't doubt it."

It was a balm to his battered spirit to sit and converse with Athos without any of the reticence that had marked their interactions thus far. It gave him a sliver of hope that they could overcome the difficulties and rekindle their brotherhood. He looked over at the bed where Porthos lay quietly. Now, all he had to do was convince his stubborn friend to forgive him.

Tbc


	11. Chapter 11

**A New Day Dawning**

 **Chapter Eleven**

It was three days before Porthos was capable of sustaining anything other than the briefest conversation. During that time, he either slept or rested uncomfortably in bed while his wound throbbed and robbed him of energy. Aramis did not leave his side except to look after his personal needs. Athos and d'Artagnan, understanding how much this meant to the marksman, didn't interfere. Porthos made no comment although the devotion to his care was rapidly diminishing his anger at Aramis for his perceived desertion four years earlier.

Late in the afternoon they were alone in the infirmary. Athos and d'Artagnan were back on duty and weren't expected to return to the garrison until late in the evening. They had just been through the unpleasant task of checking the wound for signs of infection and changing the bandages. Porthos decided that he couldn't ignore their simmering discord any longer.

"It wasn't true, what I said back at the monastery."

Aramis' hands stilled from where they had been gathering up the soiled bandages. He didn't look up.

"We never learnt to live without you," Porthos continued.

"Neither did I," Aramis said softly. He drew in a shuddering breath and continued with his task, carrying the bandages over to the fire to dispose of them. When he returned to Porthos' bedside he carried a cup of water. "You need to drink. You lost a lot of blood."

Porthos accepted the cup, satisfied that his hands weren't shaking as badly as they had previously. "I'd rather it was wine," he grumbled.

There was the slightest amused twitch of Aramis' lips. "Soon enough, my friend."

The words gave Porthos pause. He had been angry and hurt by Aramis' decision to withdraw from the secular life. Those feelings had persisted even though the separation was over. He knew he had reached a cross-roads. He could either continue to hold a grudge or he could try and explain to see if they could reach an understanding.

"Every time we went into battle I missed havin' you by my side."

"Porthos…"

"Let me finish. There were times we could have done with your mastery of Spanish when we had a prisoner to interrogate." He stopped, breathing heavily. His wound began to pulse in time with his heart beat.

Aramis looked distressed. "We don't have to do this now."

"Now's as good a time as any." Porthos handed back the empty cup. "I was captured. Did you know that?"

"D'Artagnan told me."

"Did he tell you how they rescued me?"

"Yes."

"It was the kind of crazy plan I'd have expected from you."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there." There was the slightest hitch in Aramis' voice.

"No, you're not. You were where you chose to be." He kept his voice level with a great deal of effort.

"You know why I left. My life was spared through God's grace and I made a vow."

"I understand that. What I don't understand is how you could have turned us away when we came to fetch you." They had left the garrison in such high spirits, believing Aramis would rejoin them when he heard about the war. His refusal to leave had been like a kick to the gut.

Some of the colour had left Aramis' face. "I believed I was following the right path. I couldn't so easily abandon my calling."

"So you let us ride to war without you."

"It seemed to be the right decision at the time."

"Do you regret it?" Porthos asked bluntly. He could see Aramis was struggling to find the right answer.

"I cannot regret that I kept my vow, however poorly. I do regret that I wasn't with you throughout the fighting. Don't think that I don't understand why you're angry. I left you at a time of great need. You must think me capricious; to foresake my friends and my career to devote my life to God."

Porthos mulled that over, reaching a startling conclusion. "I know how much the Catholic faith means to you. Making a solemn oath to God isn't something to be taken lightly. I know you couldn't turn your back on that."

Aramis relaxed fractionally, the taut lines of his shoulders softening. "I don't think I was a very good monk. I kept looking for answers which weren't there. It was only when the three of you came to the monastery a few days ago that I realised my true vocation. However, I know my actions caused a lot of pain and, if it would ease things, I am prepared to return to the monastery."

"You'd abandon me again?" Porthos asked, His temper began to stir.

"Not by choice." There was a pleading look on Aramis' face as the last of his defences crumbled. "Please don't make me leave again."

Porthos leaned forward, ignoring the pull of his wound, and put a hand on Aramis' arm. "I would never ask you to leave. It tore me up inside the last time. D'you really think I want to go through that again?"

"You mean that?"

"You're my brother. You followed a different path for a while but now you're back." He settled back against the pillows. "Seems almost dyin' has given me a different perspective," he said, striving for lightness.

"I'm sorry it took you being shot for us to reach an accord."

"Nah, we'd have got there in time. We've known each other too long to stay mad at one another."

Aramis nodded before standing up. "It's time for your medication. Now that you are recovering I have reduced the dosage. We wouldn't want you to have to contend with withdrawal symptoms."

While Aramis busied himself mixing the potion Porthos reclined in bed and watched his friend with a fond smile. He would never forget the sting of Aramis' rejection but it's potency would fade with time. All that really mattered was that they were reunited. It would still be an effort to fall back into their easy relationship and maybe they would never entirely recover what had been lost. But, it was worth the effort. Over the preceding days Aramis had shown his commitment. He'd never wavered once. Athos and d'Artagnan had also been quietly supportive. He could finally see what had been in front of him all this time. All three of his brothers were truly the embodiment of their motto. All for one and one for all.

The End


End file.
